


Sip

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ficlet, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-05 03:56:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14608767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Ignis prepares Noctis’ food; Noctis returns the favour.





	Sip

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “I've seen several stories where Noctis is a vampire, but I'd love to see is a story where Ignis is one instead. Maybe the Scienta family loyally serves the royal family in exchange for the right to feed on their blood? I'd just wanna see vampire Ignis feeding from his beloved prince and Noctis being 100% willing and into it. And all that intimate, steamy goodness” prompt on [the FFXV kinkmeme](https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/4747.html?thread=9912715#cmt9912715).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Ignis keeps his eyes trained on the cutting board, fixated on the onion he’s slowly dicing into bits. Usually, he could chop through the whole thing in under a second. But at times like this, when his hands have a minor tremor to them and his vision’s black around the edges, he needs to be careful. He doesn’t dare look up. Noctis is sprawled across the black couch in his living room, idly playing on his phone, unaware of the enormous temptation he presents to Ignis ever day.

Ignis can even _smell_ the beads of sweat dotting Noctis’ sun-kissed skin. It’s that time of year where it’s hot even late in the evening, and Gladiolus just ran him ragged in training—he came in groaning and stretching and filling Ignis up with a heated, cloying _want_ that’s left Ignis clumsy. Ignis pushes his thoughts aside and does his duty. Noctis will need dinner soon. Ignis will provide it.

Ignis finishes slicing the onion one and shuffles it aside with his knife, making room for the red pepper. Peppers are more difficult to fit into Noctis’ diet, but if Ignis cuts them fine enough and compensates with plenty of sauce and cheese, Noctis will surely eat his lasagna without complaint. Ignis works hard for that. He always feeds Noctis well.

He tries not to feed himself unless he _absolutely has to_. He knows that it’s his due—he serves Noctis wholly, loyally, in every possible capacity that Noctis could hope for, and in exchange, he’s permitted to satiate himself with Noctis’ very lifeblood. But no matter how hard Ignis works, how much he devotes himself to his beloved prince, it never quite seems _fair_. The toll is much too heavy. The blood is much too rich. Ignis doesn’t deserve a price so decadent.

Ignis pushes his starvation aside and guts the pepper of its seeds. He’s so engrossed in that, in channeling his own hunger into Noctis’ meal, that he doesn’t hear the footsteps coming. A hand thrusts before him. Ignis’ knife stills. Noctis rolls back his sleeve, offering his wrist. He could never know how much that small stretch of bare skin, that one little gesture, makes Ignis ravenous. 

Noctis tells him, soft but firm, “Drink up. You look like you need it.”

Ignis’ fist clenches around the handle of the knife. His mind screams to push Noctis’ hand away, but the rest of him can’t bear to do it. He stares at the subtle veins drawn beneath Noctis’ skin. Ignis can almost hear them throbbing. 

Ignis traitorously lets his eyes glide up Noctis’ arm, across Noctis’ chest, along Noctis’ chin. Noctis tilts his head aside, exposing his throat. He orders like the prince he is, “ _Do it_ , Iggy.”

Ignis has always been too weak for this. He turns away from his work, squaring off with Noctis. One hand lifts to Noctis’ face, fingers tentatively brushing Noctis’ cheek. He cups it in his palm, even knowing that he shouldn’t. He knows it’s wrong to touch his prince the way he does. He makes it far too _intimate_. He tells himself this is no loving embrace, no matter how much he might like it to be. It’s not a kiss he’s offering. 

He pulls Noctis towards him. His other hand drops to Noctis’ waist, and he tells himself he won’t do more than that, but his fingers still curl into Noctis’ belt and tug, dragging Noctis’ body tight against his own. Noctis’ breath hitches, more tantalizing with every sound. Ignis lowers his mouth to Noctis’ throat, and he lets his fangs graze Noctis’ skin.

Noctis whispers a breathy, “ _Ignis_ —” And Ignis bites down.

That first thrust inside is sharp, slick, and it pains him to hear Noctis’ little cry. Noctis’ hands dart to his biceps, holding on, clinging to his shirt, and Ignis takes far too much pleasure in it—in the feeling of Noctis trembling against him. His guilt overwhelms him, but it’s drowned out in a wild frenzy of _desire_ , rushing in to take him over. He locks his jaw around Noctis’ flesh, and he sucks at the vein he’s accessed. Creamy, sweet blood bubbles up to fill his mouth. He swallows it down with one greedy gulp and sucks out more, feeds on Noctis like some feral animal—he can’t help himself. He should, he knows that. But Noctis always tastes _so good_.

Noctis makes it so much worse. He isn’t just beautiful, isn’t just delicious. He shivers in Ignis’ arm and _moans_ as Ignis sucks at him. He spills a slew of needy, mewling noises that set fireworks in Ignis’ mind. Ignis can smell the arousal that creeps through Noctis’ body. Ignis can feel the growing bulge against his thigh. He tries to ignore it, like he always does. But Noctis gets _so hard_ that it’s impossible to avoid, and then Noctis begins to shallowly rut against him. It’s only stuttering, staccato thrusts, because Noctis is losing blood and thought to Ignis’ control. But it’s enough to drive Ignis mad. Noctis breathes the life back into him and fills him up with fire. He never wants to let go.

He always takes more than he should. He makes himself rip away, but it’s already gone too long. Noctis’ cry is hoarse, and he slumps down—Ignis has to catch him and hold him up, pinning him back against the counter. Ignis finds himself leaning in before he can stop himself, but he only allows himself a few chaste licks. He laps at the holes he’s left like a guilty dog. The holes slowly seal. Ignis’ own brand of magic works. But Noctis is left depleted for it, and the shame remains.

When it’s all done, and Ignis is both sated and unsatisfied, Noctis looks up at him. Noctis’ eyes are dilated and hazy, far away but intense. It feels like he’s waiting for Ignis to do more. Ignis desperately wants to.

But Ignis has caused his prince enough pain, and he just murmurs, “Thank you.” He returns to chopping vegetables, again quick and clear.


End file.
